


Left the Station

by Fremasns



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gore, M/M, One Shot, Short, Short One Shot, Violence, but not really fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fremasns/pseuds/Fremasns
Summary: The meat. It was all Ross could think of anymore. The eight hours he’d been killing for was a total haze of blood and flesh. With his trusty TV, he was unstoppable. But how’d he get here? Where will he go? Who’s this guy spouting philosophy?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Left the Station

At the construction site, nothing was that meaningful anymore. Buffalo was gone, and so were most of the workers thanks to that damn bald guy and his lackeys. All that mattered was prepping for the next challenger, whenever that would be. “Hey, Wyatt, check this jersey that I found! We could cop this for the next big game!” “Not bad, but that’s for basketball, not football. We’re keeping the ponchos. Aren’t you on construction, anyway?” “Const- what the fuck did you just say?!” “Ross, please shut the fuck up. Let me finish this mag.” Ross pushes Wyatt to the ground, almost effortlessly. “Ross-?!” Wyatt’s head explodes with a meaty splat after a well placed fist connects. Some of the other footballers notice the fight, 14 in total, and attempt to intervene, to similar avail. CURRENT SPREE TIME: 20 minutes. 

With no gang, Ross needed to take his leave. Earlier overhearing a trip that Wyatt and another player took to a brothel, he decided to head there. Unfortunately, he fell into a hole on the way there. Discovering a strange cave full of mutated fish-people, he took his anger out on them, but not before finding a hole in a wall…

He was in a realm of blood. A massive heart beat rhythmically. “So, you’re pretty good at this, huh?”, a shrewd man behind a desk crowed. “You’ve wracked up quite a streak, 14 in total. You’re on the first fold of infinity. To reach the next, you need to kill double the amount as you have last fold, so-” “I get it, old man, get on with the point!”, Ross shouted impatiently. “Very well. To have everything cleared you must kill… YOUR AVATAR OF HATRED!” A man clad in a 1920s prim-and-proper suit appears spontaneously. “What’s popping, dadd-” Splat. “Well, that was fast. Good luck on the other folds!” The realm collapsed, and Ross was in the cave once more. CURRENT TOTAL OF PHYSICAL KILLS: 22. CURRENT SPREE TIME: 1 hour. 

Climbing out of the cave, he decided not to bother with small fry anymore. He needed the densest place around. Maybe… that downtown place he heard of? Disposing of two disheveled men he found asking him to blow up some cave, he was back in the realm. “Hey, I have a favour to ask, desk boy” “Yeeeeeeessssss?” “Would you mind bringing me to the downtown area?” “Of course, of course. I was planning to do that anyways.” With a snap of the man’s fingers, Ross was in a large, decrepit metropolis swarming with people wearing shirts like his. CURRENT TOTAL OF KILLS: 24. CURRENT SPREE TIME: 1 hour, 10 minutes.

The next 7 hours were a blur of meat, blood, and giblets. No rest was needed. No weapons were needed, except maybe a brokeass TV he found laying around. Life was good. All things were to be rendered into paste. His prowess at Olathian football proved useful in killing. CURRENT TOTAL OF KILLS: 125. CURRENT SPREE TIME: 8 hours. 

Watching from afar, Ross spied two men fighting a third. One was a jerseywearer like him, but the other two were quite odd. One was wearing a cobbled-together cloak of rags, and fought using some bullshit kung-fu, and the other was wearing a massive hat, and held a gun that he refused to fire. "It is said, from meat we come... through the franchise, infinite we become", spouted the franchisee. Easy pickings… seeing a weakness in the wearer’s defenses, he threw his TV, fearing nothing from the others. “HERE COMES THE MEAT TRAIN!”

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely sure if this can be called fluff, but whatever.


End file.
